


A Purpose To All This

by LucyCrewe11 (Raphaela_Crowley)



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Bibelforscher, Concentration Camps, Gen, History, Inspired by "Purple Triangles", Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raphaela_Crowley/pseuds/LucyCrewe11
Summary: Before the events of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, Edmund participates in bullying a German boy at school.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Peter Pevensie
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	A Purpose To All This

**Author's Note:**

> Written November 2011

" _...In fact ever since his first term at that horrid school which was where he had begun to go wrong."-The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis._

" _There is a purpose to all this, there is a God"- Purple Triangles (1991 starlock-TVS short film)_

" _I thought-I thought," said Edmund; but he couldn't think of anything to say._

" _You didn't think anything at all," said Peter; "it's just spite. You've always liked being beastly to anyone smaller than yourself; we've seen that at school before now."_

_-The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis_

It was the last day of the school term, and Peter Pevensie was waiting in the hallway for his young brother Edmund. They were to catch a train that would take them to a junction where they would meet up with the girls (their sisters, Susan and Lucy) and then the four of them were meant to be catching another train together which would take them all home for the holidays.

Of course Edmund was not where he said he was going to be at such-and-such time. One could never keep a firm hold on him these days. Peter sighed and, reaching into his pocket, pulled out the chunky gold pocket watch on a chain their father had left him before going to fight in the beastly war. Edmund hated that Peter had that, always simpering about why _Peter_ had gotten it just because he was the eldest (he had been closer to their father, while Peter was a bit of a mother's boy, and he didn't see age as any particular reason for this point to be over-looked); and, to be fair, Peter was not taking out the watch to gloat, but merely to check the time.

Yes, the clock was correct, then. Edmund was very late.

By Jove, Ed, Peter thought crankily, if you make us miss this train and get me in trouble with Mum again...

"Hallo, Pevensie," said a friendly voice with a thick, undeniable German accent.

Turning round, Peter spotted a puny boy with round spectacles, a clear complexion, bright sky-blue eyes, and light brown, high arched, eyebrows that looked odd on a petite child but would likely appear quite handsome when he was older.

The chap's name was Wolfgang; he lived in England with his grandparents; he had even been born in a hospital in the middle of London, but he was very, very German. Several of the other kids here at school made fun of him rather mercilessly. Peter, though, tried his dashed hardest not to let his hatred of the war and Hitler effect how he thought of Wolfgang.

It wasn't _his_ fault he was German, and heaven knew he was suffering as much on account of the war as anyone else. He missed his parents desperately, and a letter he had been reading in the dormitory hall only a week ago reminded Peter of just how wrenched the poor fellow must feel.

The letter had been ripped from Wolfgang's hands by another boy. Peter had retrieved it for him and gotten a glimpse of its contents involuntarily.

"It's a lie, you know," Wolfgang had whispered, knowing Peter must have seen what it said. "My elder brother didn't die in the war fighting, they executed him. They censor all the letters that come to me. I've learned to read between the lines."

"Why would they kill him?"

"Because he wouldn't say 'Hail Hitler', because he was different, because he..." Wolfgang had taken a sharp breath through the nose. "Because he wouldn't fight. He doesn't kill people-I mean, he didn't. That's how you refer to someone when they die, right? _Didn't_ , not doesn't. That is going to take some getting used to." He blinked at Peter sadly. "His name was Peter, too, you know. That's why I like talking to you, you even kind of look a little like him."

"Are you going away when they evacuate all the children to the countryside?" Peter had asked, not knowing what else to say.

He nodded. "Yes, Opa says I must. You?"

"Yeah, after the holidays. All four of us Pevensie kids are. Some old fellow named Professor Kirke is registered to take us in."

"Oh!" Wolfgang had noticed something at the bottom of the letter.

_2Co 4:8-18_ was all that was written there, in the corner, very small, and in different handwriting from the rest of the letter- _younger_ handwriting, like that of boy in late adolescence.

"What's that mean?" Peter wondered if it was some kind of code. Unlike most boys his age, however, cracking codes did not really interested him (Edmund was more the sort to be fascinated by that kind of thing); he liked situations that were clear-cut and direct over mysteries waiting to be solved.

But to Wolfgang it had been no mystery; he knew what it meant, and fought back tears that were laced with the oddest and most tranquil little smile Peter had ever seen; a smile that so plainly reached, not only the boy's eyes, but also his heart.

It was not until sometime later, going through the books in Professor Kirke's study, that Peter would figure out it was not a code at all but, rather, a scripture from the Bible.

So now, still waiting on Edmund, Peter smiled politely, said hello back, and asked Wolfgang to give his best to his grandparents, even though he'd never met them in person.

He had a feeling Wolfgang wrote about him to his grandparents a lot. Wolfgang never lied, and he wouldn't want his opa and oma to know how unhappy he was most of the time at school; there were worse places he could be, and he knew that all too well. So, naturally, he would write about the few friends he did have, rather than his abundance of tormenters.

"Hey, Wolfgang!" a boy with a nasty expression on his face called, his hands cupped around his mouth.

He looked at the boy. "Yes?"

"Say 'water'."

"Vater," he said naturally, pronouncing his W as V.

The boy laughed and slapped his knee in an exaggerated gesture of amusement.

Peter shot him an angry look, but he didn't pay any attention.

"Who's that over there?" The boy pointed at a boy from Wolfgang's year, someone who's name he definitely knew.

"Frank."

"What's his sister's name?"

"Falerie." He meant 'Valerie'.

"Leave him alone, Ronald!" Peter barked.

"Come on, I'm just having a bit of fun, Pevensie."

"Well, I don't think _he_ is."

"Going to your locker, Wolfgang?" The kid smirked, not replying to Peter's rebuttal.

Glancing over his shoulder, Peter noticed Edmund (who finally had graced this hallway with his presence almost an hour later than promised) and two other boys, a bit older than Edmund but so-called 'chums' of his anyway, taping a folded piece of paper to Wolfgang's locker then hiding behind the water fountain, chuckling like they were the cleverest little blighters on the planet.

It was a little odd that Edmund should have been such friends with these same boys who had tormented him brutally (so much so that he had begun to wet the bed in his dorm at night) his first term. Peter could never understand it.

Wolfgang took the paper off the locker and unfolded it curiously. Then he looked down at it through blurred eyes, and bit his lower lip.

Peter fast-walked to his friend's side and peered over his shoulder. Those insensitive little beasts had drawn and coloured in an upside-down purple triangle.

"Wolfgang..."

Wolfgang shook his head. "No, it is all right." He stuck out his chin. "I know you're behind the water fountain, Edmund Pevensie." He didn't bother identifying the other boys. "You can come out."

Edmund came out smirking, the other boys standing like tall corrupting shadowy trees behind him.

"I just want to say," said Wolfgang, swallowing hard, "I am proud of my parents. And I love them more than I can say. And no matter what you all think, I know God is proud of them, he must be. I should also think that you would be happy they will not fight for Germany, after all you are English. No matter, though, God is not partial." He refolded the paper and stuck it in his pocket. "I'm going to keep this." Giving his pocket a good pat with a shaky hand, he added, "I will look at it, and I will remember how brave my parents are, and how you are not really beasts, you just do not understand. You meant to slap me in the face by this, instead you've given me something to hold to. Thank you. I need to go now, or I will miss my train. I will tell my Opa and Oma of your kindness. May God bless you."

With that, Wolfgang disappeared down the hallway.

"Good for you," Peter said to the boy's retreating back. But he was very angry with Edmund.

He wasn't sure exactly why Edmund liked picking on people smaller than he was, but he did; _exceedingly_. When Edmund was very small, he had been kinder and not so spiteful, but ever since he first went away to school, Peter had noticed a growing change in his younger brother for the worse-a change that had not improved with their father's joining up.

"Edmund Martin Pevensie," Peter growled through his teeth.

Edmund gritted his own teeth; he hated it when Peter acted like he was Dad. When they were younger, Peter used to be somewhat fun; they used to play together. Now Peter didn't have time for anything but telling him what an idiot he was and scolding him for everything from his sloppy grooming to his friends.

"What?" he demanded.

"Do you have any idea the nightmare that boy is going through?"

"It was just a joke!"

"His parents are in a bloody concentration camp, and his elder brother was recently _beheaded_." Peter folded his arms across his chest. "Forgive me if I failed to see the humour in that."

"I didn't know..." said Edmund; and he truly hadn't. The other boys told him to draw the triangle, and he'd done so, but he truly hadn't known-or at least, he hadn't really _understood_ -that it was the badge _Bibelforscher_ had to wear in concentration camps. "I didn't think..."

"No," huffed Peter, "of course you didn't. You never do. You're always picking on people smaller than you." Wolfgang was a year older than Edmund, but he was also nearly a full foot shorter as well as more timid and soft-spoken.

"I am not! We were just playing." He looked at his friends, suddenly able to think of nothing but how badly Peter was embarrassing him in front of them, making him look the fool.

"All you thought was that he was queer because his grandparents go from house-to-house and he talks with a funny accent. It was just spite. You're a mean, spoiled, selfish little brute, Edmund."

Edmund scowled.

"And this isn't the first time, either. You were beastly to Cousin Eustace during our trip to Cambridge as well."

That was where Edmund fully drew the line. "That's not true!" he protested. "I've told you again and I again; I did _not_ knock Cousin Eustace to the ground during that foot-race. He _threw_ himself down and started crying for Aunt Alberta, saying I pushed him, because he was angry I won." That was actually true; Edmund honestly hadn't been picking on his cousin, Eustace just liked getting him in trouble.

"You need to learn to grow up." Peter still didn't believe him. He might have, if Eustace was larger, but he was both smaller _and_ younger than Edmund-so he took their cousin's part.

"You believed _Lucy_ when Eustace framed her for pinching Uncle Harold's best top-hat!"

"That was different."

"Was not."

"You're on a downward spiral, you know," Peter went on, still furious and not sensing that perhaps he'd said his piece and it might be wise to drop the rest of the lecture for the time being. "You bully, you don't take any pride in yourself, and your marks are getting steadily worse. What would father say if he knew they went down _again_ this term?"

An angry sneer formed on Edmund's lips and he stared into Peter's eyes angrily for a full two seconds before shifting his gaze down to his feet. "They didn't go down as much as last term," he mumbled to the floor.

"And that makes it all right?" cried his brother incredulously. "That's barely an improvement."

"Well, it means I'm getting worse less quickly." Edmund cracked a half-smile and one of his 'friends' caught his eye and snickered.

"Edmund, let's go. We're already late." Peter shook his head and sighed heavily.

He stalked down the hallway, not once looking back, knowing perfectly well that Edmund had no choice but to follow unless he wanted to be stranded at the school for the holidays.

But if he _had_ looked back, he might have been surprised by what he would have seen. There were tears in Edmund's eyes, and as soon as his school chums weren't looking, he wiped them away with the back of his wrist.

Moreover, he stopped for a moment at a large dustbin, peered down into it, and pulled out something he and the other boys had stolen from Wolfgang earlier and thrown out. A ratty looking magazine published in German called _Das Goldene Zeitalter_.

Carefully, he pulled it out, smoothed a wrinkle on the cover page, and handed it to the Head who was coming that way after locking up his office.

Hopefully the headmaster would give it back to Wolfgang when the next school term started up; but even if he didn't, Edmund could ease his conscience a little, at least he could say he tried.


End file.
